Beauty and the Baby

by Marie Ferrarella

  They approached life differently, she and Carson. Kurt hadn’t been anything like Jaclyn, but his irresponsibility had eventually worn down the effect of his charm. But she’d discovered that her less than perfect experience with marriage hadn’t hardened her heart against further entanglements. It had just made her hopeful that the next one would be the one.

  If it involved someone like Carson.

  “Wouldn’t your Uncle Carson just love to hear that?” she murmured to Emma.

  The infant was dozing against her breast. Lori paused for a moment, savoring the silence and just looking at the precious bundle in her arms.

  Even after a fair share of dirty diapers and feedings, it was still hard to believe that Emma was finally here. That the months of nausea, of waiting and worrying were over and that her daughter was finally here, finally part of her life.

  “You’re every bit as beautiful as I knew you’d be,” she whispered to the sleeping face. “But you don’t want to hear me carrying on, you want to get your beauty sleep.” She began to walk up the stairs. “I warn you, though, you get too much more of that and the princes are going to start lining up at the door fifteen deep. You’re not going to know a moment’s peace.” She grinned. “I suppose there are worse things in life.”

  Smiling to herself, she walked into the nursery and put the baby down for another nap.

  She’d just adjusted the baby monitor when she heard the doorbell.

  Was there anyone left in the immediate world who hadn’t been by today? She wouldn’t have thought so, but apparently there was.

  The doorbell rang again before she had a chance to reach the door.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “I brought Chinese this time.”

  She felt her heart leap up in her chest. The grin spread across her lips instantly. “Carson?”

  “Well, it’s not the Good Humor Man.” The grumpy voice took away all doubt. “Open the door, Lori. These cartons are hot and they’re going to break through the bags at any second.”

  He heard her flipping the top lock. The next moment she threw the door open. The smile in her eyes went right to his gut and made him glad he hadn’t talked himself into going home.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to bring you dinner.” He elbowed his way past her. “Can we play twenty questions later?” Without waiting for an answer, he headed straight toward the kitchen.

  She smiled to herself as she closed the door again. Carson was here and everything felt right. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Hello was implied,” he told her curtly, sparing her a short glance over his shoulder. The woman looked better than she had a right to, given the circumstances. In jeans and a tank top, she looked as if she belonged on the cover of a magazine, not someone who had given birth a few days ago.

  He forced himself to pay attention to what he was doing and not what he was feeling.

  The cartons just barely made it to the counter before the paper bags they were in ripped completely. He took the containers out and bunched up the bags, tossing them into the garbage.

  Lori came in right behind him. “You sound like you certainly got up on the wrong side of the chow mein serving.”

  She took out two soda cans from the refrigerator. Joanna, bless her, had come by earlier with groceries, saying she knew just what it was like, not having a family to fall back on.

  Lori popped the tab on the first can and placed it beside a glass for him before repeating the action for herself. She regarded him for a moment. “Anything wrong beyond ripped bags?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled, looking down at her. “You’re right.”

  The man certainly liked being enigmatic. The napkin holder was empty. She took out a handful from the pantry and slipped them between the two ends before moving the holder back to the center of the table.

  She leveled a look at him. His expression gave her no clue. “I’m right because there’s something else wrong, or you’re mad because I’m right? Give me a hint here, Carson. Twenty-four hours away from you and I’m getting a little rusty in my Carson-speak.”

  He sighed, sliding his large frame onto a chair. “You know, I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time.”

  Lori gave him a bright smile. “Which means that half the time you do. Always put a positive spin on things, Carson.”

  She turned away to get two plates out of the cupboard and two forks. She would have taken out her chopsticks, but she knew that Carson was almost hopeless when it came to using them. He’d been nice enough to bring her dinner, she wasn’t about to irritate him by flaunting her dexterity. He looked like he had enough on his mind.

  “Now,” she made herself comfortable at the table, “why are you so extra grumpy?” She thought of the likeliest explanation. “Did something go wrong at the center?”

  “Yes.”

  It was like pulling teeth, but then, that was nothing new. “Are you going to make me guess?” Opening the carton with fried rice, she took out a portion for herself, then passed it on to him. “And if so, how many chances do I get?”

  He regarded the carton before him, his expression dour. “The hot water heater broke.”

  She thought of the old hundred gallon tank. The one time she’d gone into the basement for equipment, the heater had startled her by groaning and making strange noises. “You knew it was only a matter of time, Carson. That thing was ancient.”

  He passed her the chow mein container. “Yeah, I know.”

  She knew where this was leading. To a place he was unwilling to go. “Got the money to fix it?” she asked innocently.

  “The bottom dropped out,” he told her. “It’s beyond fixing.”

  She nodded her head, taking in the information. “Which means you need a new one.” She thought of the stack of bills on his desk that he’d been juggling the last month. “Carson—”

  He dropped his fork on the plate. “Now you see, that’s why I’m angry.”

  Her expression just grew more innocent. “Because I said Carson?”

  She knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. “Because of the way you said Carson.”

  Lori cocked her head, her eyes holding back a smile. “What way was that?”

  “You’re going to start nagging again.” He looked at her pointedly. She wasn’t saying anything. “About that fund-raiser.”

  Lori turned her attention to the meal. “Nope, not me. I’m done nagging.”

  He looked at her incredulously. Lori might as well have said that she’d just died and gone to heaven. He figured it would take that much for her to desist. “You’re done nagging,” he repeated.

  “Absolutely.” She was innocence personified as she looked at him. “Well, it hasn’t done any good, so there’s no point in getting on your nerves. You’re an adult, you’ll figure a way out of this without my putting in my two cents.”

  “So that’s it?” He didn’t believe her, not for one second.

  She savored the forkful of sesame chicken she’d slipped between her lips. He’d remembered her favorite, she thought. The man just kept on amazing her. “That’s it.”

  “You’re going to stop talking about the fund-raiser.” He was waiting for a contradiction.

  Her blue eyes were causing his stomach to tighten even though they were doing nothing more than talking about raising money for the center.

  She raised her hand in a solemn oath. “Not another word.”

  Carson frowned. That wasn’t the way he’d wanted to play it. He’d wanted her to push her cause and then, after some wrangling, he’d give in. He didn’t want to just surrender without her laying siege to him.

  But she left him no choice. His back was against the wall and it was either this or begin bankruptcy proceedings. He wasn’t about to let that happen before he exhausted all other avenues.

  He didn’t like this avenue.

  Carson blew out an angry breath. “All right, you win.”

  “
Win?” she echoed, a smile playing along her lips. She fluttered her eyelashes. “What do I win, Carson?”

  He realized she’d been putting him on. That didn’t change the course of the conversation. “We’ll have the fund-raiser. It goes against everything I believe in to go out there with my hat in my hand, but there’s no other way.”

  She was delighted at the turn of events. She could finally be of some kind of real help to him.

  “No hat in hand, Carson, I promise. When we get through with them, they’ll be begging to give you money.” Her appetite on hold, she pulled the pad over from the edge of the table. Her eyes were shining as plans began forming in her mind. “We still need a theme.” It took her only a second. Her eyes were gleaming as she announced, “I know, we’ll have a fifties party.”

  This was already beginning to sound bad to him. “What?”

  “The center was built in 1951,” she reminded him. “You know, the era of the poodle skirt, slicked back hair and innocence—” She winked. “Or so they tell me.”

  “Why do we need a theme?” Even when his life had been on an upward swing and he’d been part of the firm, he’d always opted for simplicity.

  “Two reasons. People like a worthy cause and people like having an excuse to dress up and have a good time.” She knew what he was going to say and cut him off. “I know, not you, but most people. Anyway, we’ll give them both.”

  “What ‘we’?” His part in this, he thought, was just to give Lori her lead. “This is going to be strictly your operation.”

  “You make it sound like the invasion at Normandy.” She made a few notes to herself. “This is going to be fun, Carson.” She saw the dubious look on his face. “Trust me.”

  “I won’t have to dress up, will I?” He didn’t like the way her grin widened. He pushed back his plate. “Oh no, count me out. You run this whole thing. I’ll be the invisible partner.”

  “Silent,” Lori corrected. “Not invisible.” She pushed his plate back toward Carson. “You have to be there.”

  This was going to be her show. She was doing it for the center. There was no need for him to even show up. “Why?”

  “Because St. Augustine’s is your center. I promise, you won’t have to do anything but dress yourself.” She winked at him again, sending off strange ripples through him. “I’ll do everything else.”

  The thought of her dressing him suddenly flashed across his mind, causing havoc in his system before he shut it away. “You just had a baby. You’re tired.”

  She put her own spin on it. “I just shed some baby weight, I’m energized.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  But he couldn’t quite get his voice to sound as disgruntled as he wanted it to. He knew he hadn’t succeeded when he saw the pleased smile on her face. The vague thought that it was worth the price whispered across his brain before he had a chance to block it.

  “Okay,” she was saying, passing him an egg roll. “Let’s get our guest list together.”

  “And she’s off,” he murmured.

  The look she gave him curled through his belly and went straight to places that should have been left out of this.

  He bit down hard on his egg roll.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carson stood staring at the outfit that Lori had left hanging on the inside of her hall closet door. She’d directed him to it as she went back into the guest room to put on her own costume for tomorrow’s fund-raiser. She wanted him to see her in it.

  There was a red jacket, faded jeans and a white T-shirt hanging in front of him, daring him to try them on. He glanced over toward the guest room. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Her voice came floating out of the room. “What’s the matter, don’t you like it?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Try it on, you’ll look like James Dean. Or what he might have looked like if he hadn’t died in that car accident.”

  “If he hadn’t died in that car accident, he’d be an old man now.”

  He heard her sigh. “Then,” she corrected. “The way he’d looked back then.”

  Carson picked up the red windbreaker’s sleeve and shook his head. She couldn’t be serious.

  As if reading his thoughts, Lori called out, “You’re not playing along, Carson. The fund-raiser has a fifties motif, remember?” She paused a second and he knew she was thinking, always a dangerous thing as far as Lori was concerned. “Would you rather dress up like Cary Grant in Mr. Lucky or Houseboat? That might be more your style, although the outfit is less recognizable. Dressed like that, you’ll just be a man in a tux. Everyone’s pretty much familiar with James Dean’s jeans and red windbreaker from Rebel Without A Cause.”

  That was just the trouble. He didn’t want to look like an idiot, emulating a man who’d been dead for over forty-five years. “What are you wearing?” he wanted to know. “A poodle skirt and a sweater set?”

  “Not quite.”

  Lori stepped out of the guest room. Carson’s tongue was suddenly in danger of sliding down his throat.

  She was wearing a white sundress that seemed to be a flurry of soft white pleats that caressed her curves with every move she made. The halter top showed off her shoulders to their advantage and his disadvantage. They displayed more white, creamy skin than he felt safe being around. Her legs were bare and she was wearing white, sling back high heels. Lori’s light blond hair was teased and fashioned in a classic, familiar style that had been a sex goddess’s trademark in the fifties. She even had a beauty mark near the corner of one side of her mouth.

  Lori held out the skirt and twirled around one complete revolution for his benefit, her eyes barely leaving his face. “So, what do you think?”

  He’d never been one for movies, but he knew what he liked. “Damn.”

  She smoothed down the skirt. The outfit made her feel just this side of wicked. So did the look in his eyes. Whether he knew it or not, he made her feel like a woman again. “Good damn or bad damn?”

  “Just damn,” he breathed, grateful that he still could. “You look like—”

  Knowing his limited range when it came to movie stars, she came to his rescue. “Marilyn Monroe in Seven Year Itch, I hope.”

  “Better.” The halter accentuated her breasts and dipped down low. Realizing he was staring, Carson looked down at her waist. It was as slender as it had been the day she’d married Kurt. “Nobody’d ever guess you just had a baby.”

  Dimples flashed as she grinned. “Unless I forget to use her drool cloth just before I go.” She crossed to the closet where his costume was still hanging. “So, what’ll it be? Cary Grant or James Dean?”

  Carson frowned. He hadn’t even had a suit on since he’d left the law firm. He passionately disliked getting dressed up and donning a costume was even worse.

  He closed the closet door, hoping to end the discussion. “Couldn’t I just be me? Nobody’s going to look at me anyway, not if we walk in together.”

  Did he even realize what he’d just said? Probably not. “Why, Carson, that just might be the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I must have said something better than that to you.”

  “Not that I recall.” Moving him aside, she opened the closet door again. This time, she took out the costume and draped it across the back of the sofa. “But don’t try to turn my head with compliments, I’m determined to get you into the full swing of this.” She regarded the costume, then looked back at Carson, trying to picture him in it. “Now, if you want that tuxedo, I can probably scare one up for you, but you have to tell me now. We don’t have much time.”

  She didn’t have to tell him that. The fund-raiser’s date had haunted him ever since he’d given her the green light three weeks ago. He’d never seen a woman work so hard so quickly. You would have thought that just adjusting to being a new mother would have been enough for her to handle.

  “And everyone’s
coming.” He still couldn’t believe it. A hundred and fifty people had been invited to this wild scheme of hers. She’d even invited the other lawyers who had been part of his firm. He’d found that out when one of the senior partners had called in person to confirm. He’d almost called the whole thing off then, but one look at Lori’s radiant face as she went over plans with him had made him swallow his words before they’d ever had a chance to emerge.

  She nodded. “According to their RSVPs, everyone’s coming.” Picking up the red windbreaker, she held it up against Carson. She liked the way it made him looked. Sexy, wild. “Actually, with Sinjin and Rick Masters coming, we could opt for an intimate party of eight and still get enough money to keep you going for the next few years.”

  Each of the two men had already separately let her know that they were more than willing to make generous contributions to the center, as well as lend their names to the function, thereby guaranteeing its success. It certainly did help to have connections, she mused.

  “But the object of this little shindig,” she said before he pounced on her comment like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline, “is to get the center solvent for many years to come. Not to mention getting a few computers and a new roof for the place.”

  The roof had been her addition last week. New computer was a brainstorm that came two days ago. He pushed aside the windbreaker. “Why is it that every time I talk to you, the center’s wish list has grown?”

  She placed the jacket back on the sofa beside the jeans and T-shirt. “Because I keep thinking of things that would be useful at the center.” She’d already told him this part, but she saw no harm in repeating it. In typical male fashion, he probably hadn’t been listening the first time around, anyway. “If we had a class teaching them basic computer skills, those kids could get decent jobs and maybe save up some money so they could get into college when they graduated. To have that kind of a class, we need computers. And as for the roof, have you taken a look at it lately?”